


Season One

by blazingskies2970



Series: Shameless Rewrite: Partner, Lover, Family [1]
Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Discussion of Abortion, M/M, More will be coming, Mpreg, Shameless (US) Season One, idk what to tag this, it's like a prologue, roughly follows cannon, this is like a prequel to the rest of the story
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-19
Updated: 2020-10-19
Packaged: 2021-03-08 22:01:29
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,038
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27103879
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blazingskies2970/pseuds/blazingskies2970
Summary: Remember Mickey’s bad luck? Just when he thought it was leaving him for good, it turned around and stabbed him in the heart.
Relationships: Ian Gallagher/Mickey Milkovich
Series: Shameless Rewrite: Partner, Lover, Family [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1978276
Comments: 5
Kudos: 120





	Season One

**Author's Note:**

> I'm taking a teensy break from Not Without You to work on this idea I've had in my head for a while.  
> Stay tuned! The second book is coming.
> 
> update: I realized that Paddy wasn't a very Ukrainian name (it's actually Irish, what a coincidence), so I changed Terry's dad's name to Petro.

Of the 7.8 billion people in the world, less than 0.01% are carriers. The actual number is somewhere around 723,540. And out of those 723,540, between 1 and 2% of carriers are active carriers- meaning they do have the potential to get pregnant and deliver a baby. That rounds out to about 10,850. In all of Chicago, there are 264 carriers. Going with the same 1 to 2% of active carriers, that means that in Chicago, there are 4 men who have the potential to get pregnant. 

Mickey Milkovich just so happens to be one of those 4. 

He knows it’s his bad luck, of course. He’s never been lucky in his life. He could’ve been born to the two richest people on the planet, growing up in a mansion and eating from a palladium spoon (silver spoons aren’t that expensive anymore). But instead, he got stuck being a Milkovich. 

The Milkoviches have lived in the South Side of Chicago since the 40s, when Petro Milkovich moved into the run-down, one-story brick slop that is infamous for housing the terrors of the neighborhood. He married some skinny Russian girl who’s name is not important, only the fact that she gave him 5 sons. The talk of the neighborhood for a while was how Mrs. Milkovich managed to push all 5 kids out of her skinny body and feed them all, without killing herself. She did eventually die, though not from giving birth, from pneumonia, 3 years after her youngest was born. After her death, Petro Milkovich ruled his house with an iron fist, unashamedly beating his sons into line, and teaching them all how to be criminals. Not a single one finished high school, although the second oldest son died before he could. The oldest son ran off; he was always the smartest; the second youngest got blown up in the army, and the youngest found the sexual pleasure of murder and got himself a life in jail, but not before having his wife push out 5 of her own kids. 

The middle son, however, who was the favorite of his father, inherited the family business of stealing and beating and dealing drugs. His name was Terry Milkovich, and after his father was murdered by a drug dealer in ‘86, he took over as head of the Milkovich family. He married a young, pretty girl named Laura, who had her whole life ahead of her. She wanted to start a business and employ other young women and make tons of money and maybe get a dog. Terry wanted her to stay home and act all sweet and harmless when the police came looking. 

So that’s what she did. She had Terry’s first son, Colin, 3 years after they married, then his second son, Iggy, 3 years after that. Terry had been involved in his first two kids’ early years, showing them how to dismantle a gun and put it back together when they were just toddlers. He would often bring them along on a “trip”, giving them alcohol-soaked rags to keep them quiet while he raided an unsuspecting corner store. Laura hated it, but she knew she couldn’t say anything, or else he would beat her like he did when he was drunk sometimes. 

Thankfully, when she had Terry’s third son, Mickey, two years after Iggy was born, Terry had lost interest in babies and only wanted boys who could shoplift with him. As soon as Laura held her son in her hands, she knew that he was different. He wasn’t cold-blooded like his father and his older brothers would turn out to be- she looked into his eyes and just knew. A year later, she had her only daughter, Mandy. It wasn’t like she wanted to have favorites. She just loved being around Mickey and Mandy more than Colin and Iggy. The latter two loved terrorizing the many mice that lived in the Milkovich’s cramped house- pulling their tails until they squealed and “dissecting” them when they were caught in the mouse traps Laura put out. Mickey and Mandy were much more quiet, and were utterly fascinated when Laura would sing them to sleep, whereas Colin and Iggy would whine and cover their ears. 

For a while, life at the Milkovich house went on just as it had always done. Terry would steal and then get thrown in jail, and then get out, steal again, and get thrown in jail once again. Laura worked odd jobs to try and meet the bills and taxes that started to pile up. Colin and Iggy grew older, and started finding girls more and more attractive. Laura caught Colin with a girl in his bed for the first time when he was 12. Iggy, wanting to be just like his brother, brought a girl home the next day, even though he was only 9. 

It wasn’t long before Laura started noticing a change in her sweet Mickey and Mandy. Mickey started picking up the colorful language his older brothers used and Mandy would come home every now and then with her clothes rumpled and a scared look in her eyes. Laura began wondering what her sister was like, having married a dentist and moved away to Ohio. Then when Mickey turned 13, everything changed. 

It was a quiet day. Colin, who was now 18, and Terry were in jail once again, Iggy was staying at his long-term girlfriends house, and Mandy was watching tv in the living room. Mickey was helping Laura make a dinner of chicken fingers and peas, when he started to tell her of a cramping in his stomach he’d been having for a day now. 

“An’ I can eat just fine, an’ I don’t have to take a shit or anything, it’s just uncomfortable.” 

Laura suggested Mickey put a hot compress on his stomach, thinking he had pulled a muscle working out. When the pain went away from his stomach, it went away from her mind, as well. 

Until a month later, when Mickey complained about the pain again. “Though there’s something else,” he whispered to her. It was Saturday morning, and Laura was about to head off to her weekend job. “I’m, uh…” he rubbed his left eyebrow, a tick he had developed whenever he was nervous or angry, “Shitting blood.” It was very audible, but Laura heard it. It was kind of amazing how quick her brain latched onto what was wrong with her son. 

Her cousin had had the same problem, cramps every month, blood in his stools. He had gotten tested when he was 17, and found out that he was an active carrier. The mutation could sometimes run in families, so Laura assumed the worst and took her son to a low-pay doctor the next day. She was right, of course, after an ultrasound where the doctor, who wouldn’t stop staring at her breasts the entire time, pointed out Mickey had a fully-working uterus, ovaries, fallopian tubes; an entire female reproductive system. He had offered to remove it, but Laura didn’t have that kind of money. Instead, she sat Mickey down and explained to him that his life was going to be a lot different now. 

That was only the beginning of Mickey’s bad luck. 

A year later, Laura died in her bed, after drinking beer with pesticides in it. But whether she put it there or someone else did, no one knew. Mickey dropped out of school to help his father and brothers with the “family business,” now that Laura wasn’t around to work anymore. Terry’s mood started to turn even more sour after that. He would spend most nights drunk out of his mind, collapsed on the living room floor. Which was a blessing in disguise, because it meant that Mickey would have his own room, instead of sharing with Mandy. His carrier “side effect,” as he called it (he couldn’t bring himself to say the actual word), was starting to get better, the pain not so intense, the blood not so much. But of course, because he was a Milkovich, _something_ had to go completely to shit for him. That came in the form of being one of the only 4 carriers in Chicago, and falling for Ian Gallagher. 

If the Milkoviches were the worst family in the South Side, then the Gallaghers were the second worst. Irish to the Milkovich’s Ukraine, Frank and Monica Gallagher had 6 children, 6 more than they could afford to feed, look after, and care for. Frank and Monica had married in their early 20s, after a night of ecstasy, and had their first child, a girl named Fiona, shortly after. 5 years later, Monica gave birth to a son named Phillip (or, “Lip”). About a year and a half later, after a fight with Frank, Monica found comfort in Frank’s brother Clayton, and that was how Ian Gallagher came into the world. Ian was 3 when Monica left for the first time. Bipolar, but convinced she wasn’t, she took off with the first trucker at a gas station she met. She only stayed away for about a year, before returning to Frank and her 3 children, having another daughter and then another son, before leaving again, this time for 6 years. 

Frank was no better. Smart as a whip, yet an alcoholic and an addict, who spent most of his time passed out drunk in an alleyway, he didn’t even know his youngest daughter’s name until Fiona, who was 12 at the time, beat him up and screamed it into his ears until he went partially deaf. Monica returned in 2008, looking for money, had the 6th and last Gallagher child, Liam (who Frank was convinced was not his until a paternity test proved to him that, miraculously, two white people _can_ have a black baby), then left again with her girlfriend and an 18-wheeler. 

Life was no party for the Gallaghers. With no parental figures in the house, Fiona, the oldest, took up the task of ruling the roost. Like Laura Milkovich had done, she took up many odd jobs to put food on the table, clothes on her siblings’ backs, and money for tax day. The Gallagher children had life tough, but one of the only things that kept them going, besides each other, was the fact that they were not the Milkoviches. 

Ian Gallagher realized he was gay when he stole his brother’s porn magazines, only to find that the pictures of naked women didn’t do it for him. 

Mickey Milkovich realized he was gay (although he would never say that out loud) when he and Ian Gallagher beat each other up when Ian came around, looking for a gun Mickey had stolen from Ian’s much older, and married, boyfriend who owned the corner store that Ian worked at. Mickey had stolen the gun because Ian’s boyfriend had pulled it on him (but couldn’t use it) after Mickey had been stealing from his store. And Mickey had been stealing from his store because he had heard from his sister Mandy that Ian had jumped her after Ian had refused to have sex with her. Mickey and Ian ended up banging, were nearly caught by Mickey’s father, then continued. 

It was almost like an addiction for Mickey. He felt freest when he was around Ian, like he could just be his complete self without worry. Well, maybe he should’ve worried a little. Mickey would never confide in Ian that he was a carrier- he saw it as more weak than liking it up the ass. Maybe he should’ve. Maybe then they would use condoms. Mickey didn’t even think to use condoms- 98 to 99% of carriers didn’t have to, so he would obviously be in that range, right? The chance was so low. 

Remember Mickey’s bad luck? Just when he thought it was leaving him for good, it turned around and stabbed him in the heart. 

After Ian’s boyfriend caught Ian cheating on him with Mickey, Mickey confronted the towel head to keep his mouth shut, then Ian’s boyfriend surprised everyone, even himself, by shooting Mickey in the leg. So Mickey got sent to juvie, even though he was the one who got fucking shot in the leg. 

Ian visited Mickey a few weeks later. He was surprised and rather pleased, though he knew he couldn’t show it. “I miss you,” Ian had said and Mickey could feel his chest growing warm. He hated it. 

He hated how he had fallen for another guy, a _boy,_ nonetheless, still 15 years old, not even old enough to drive a car. He hated how he thought about Gallagher’s smile and his freckles and how he knew how to fuck right even though he was _15 years old._

Sometime during the end of March, he starts to throw up. At first he thinks it’s just something he ate, because the food was shit in there, but then when it turned into just plain nausea, headaches, and tiredness, he knows something’s up. Maybe he has a bug, he thinks, but knows better than to talk about it with the other five guys he’s sharing a cramped room with. Any sign of weakness, and you’re bitch material for the others. 

The bug continues for another few weeks, and he’s completely miserable. His health is starting to rub off on his mood, and he’s more irritable, getting into fights more often, although he knows he shouldn’t and he might get released early for good behavior and so what if he wants to see Gallagher again? 

Then in April, one of his roommates, Santiago, who got in for stabbing his teacher with a pencil after she made him do an extra homework assignment, is talking about his sister, who just found out she’s pregnant, and is dealing with the first trimester symptoms. As he’s listing them off, cold dred hits Mickey. He’s a carrier. He let a guy fuck him. And he’s not just a carrier, he’s an _active_ carrier, meaning his body is creating eggs and uterus lining and all that shit. What’s more, they didn’t use a condom because Mickey didn’t think something like this could ever happen. 

Well, now it has. 

If he does his calculations correctly, he’s at least 8 weeks along, because that’s the last time he and Ian banged, but it could’ve been before then. He can’t tell the guards, he just _can’t._ He only has 2 more months, he won’t be very far along, he can just get an abortion when he gets out, right? _With what money?_ his brain supplies, but then he tells it that he doesn’t have the money to raise a baby anyway, and _holy shit. A baby._ It’s one thing to realize you’re pregnant, because being pregnant seems like you have a disease, something terrible, but curable, but it's another thing to realize that pregnancy ends in a baby, which is most definitely not curable. 

Ian visits him again, telling him the school year is almost over and he’s excited for summer and only 6 more weeks Mickey, can you wait? 

Mickey doesn’t tell him he’s knocked up. He can’t. It’s undoubtedly Gallagher’s, of course, Mickey hasn’t let anyone else do him like Gallagher does him. But Gallagher is still just a _kid._ Sure, he’s gotten rid of that ridiculous haircut he had last year; his hair’s a lot shorter now, and maybe he’s lost some baby fat, but he’s still a _kid._ He doesn’t want a kid of his own. Hell, Mickey doesn’t want a kid of his own. 

His release date is getting nearer and nearer, and with it, the weather is getting warmer and warmer, and Mickey is wondering if he can get rid of the problem himself by shoving something far up his anus. He’s in the shower, at least 4 months along, and he’s soaping his body up. He’s one of the last ones to shower, which usually means the guards give them a little extra time. He’s thinking about stealing a knife- maybe several knives- from the cafeteria and smuggling them into his room. He runs a hand over his stomach, and then freezes. Because he can fucking _feel_ something. It’s not a bump, really, just a sort of hardness below his belly button. His stomach’s always been kind of soft, so the hard lump of _something_ beneath his skin sticks out like a sore thumb. His breath catches in his throat as he pokes it and realizes it’s a baby. 

Before now, the idea of a baby had always been abstract, sure he was pregnant, but besides the nausea, tiredness, and headaches, he didn’t feel pregnant. Now though, the appearance of a gentle bump hits him hard. And now he can’t stab himself up the ass with a knife. He just can’t. 

There’s a baby in him. And not just any baby, Gallagher’s baby. Mickey wonders absentmindedly if it will have Gallagher’s stupidly green eyes. He shuts off the water and towels himself off before changing, all in a daze. He has a _baby._

He stops smoking, telling his roommates that his lungs have started to hurt and he wants to make it to 20, and he doesn’t drink anymore because there’s no liquor allowed in juvie. When he gets his meals, he makes sure he always has something green on his plate, which the other guys tease him for, but he couldn’t give two shits about. He may not have gone to school in two years, but he knows you’re supposed to eat well and not smoke when you’re pregnant. At night, he curls in on himself, and racks his brain about what he’s going to do when he gets out. Does he tell Gallagher? Maybe. The Gallaghers have more money than his family does, maybe they can help him pay for an abortion. 

But then he thinks, no. If he tells Gallagher, he’ll leave him because that’s what people do. They leave. He’s in this alone. Or rather, they’re in this alone. 

“I’m fucked,” he whispers, because that’s the only thing that can sum up his situation right now- he’s fucked.


End file.
